Three Years
by MartinChristopher
Summary: Three years have passed since Sherlock jumped. John is still grieving and had left Baker Street. Mycroft had become a close friend and had to tell John something about the past few years, about someone who's back.
1. Three Years

Three years.  
Three years after Sherlock jumped from the rooftop of St. Barts.  
Three years and John was still grieving – with the bottom of his heart.

He was grieving, mostly crying when he was alone. Alone and with nothing to do.  
The tremor in his hand was back and also the limp with his leg. Not every day, but on some days, especially when he thought too much about Sherlock, then he needed his cane and his hand was trembling.  
He had left Baker Street 221b, after a few weeks. Every night he had slept in Sherlock's bed, had waited for the soft violin music, had waited for Sherlock, had made him tea, had sat in his chair. And finally he had talked with the skull. He had been extremely exhausted and it had driven him mad, so that he had decided to leave Baker Street.  
He had decided to quit his job at the clinic.  
And he had decided to leave Greg alone with his crime scenes. It wasn't the same without Sherlock. And he didn't want to be there without him.  
So he had moved to Potters Bar – a lovely house with a garden. Thanks to Mycroft.

Thanks to Mycroft for all what he had done, since Sherlock had jumped from the rooftop.

Two times a week he spent his time at a physiotherapy school to teach anatomy. And the rest of the week he was writing, writing books as an author. And he was quite good at this.

John had searched a new psychiatrist. Every Thursday 9 am. It helped, at least a bit.  
The worst thing was, that he felt absolutely guilty for Sherlock's suicide. It was his fault, he was Sherlock's best friend and he hadn't seen that his friend has such big problems that its only possible solution seemed to be jumping from a rooftop.  
And on top of that, John had seen it, had seen how Sherlock had jumped; jumped from a high building. Blood, so much blood. Things that he saw in his nightmares. There weren't nightmares about Afghanistan, there were just nightmares about Sherlock. Every time the same one. Jumping and blood and John, who wasn't able to stop and help Sherlock.

John had thought about the reasons.  
The reasons, why this man had jumped.  
Hadn't he felt loved? That was the worst reasons of all – for John.  
Because Sherlock was loved, so much. John had loved him, more than that, he still was in love with this man and he loves him, with the bottom of his heart and all he has.  
As a colleague.  
As a friend.  
As a best friend.  
As a man.  
John was gay; gay as hell. He was never involved in something with a girl, not for one kiss and absolutely not for more than a kiss – but because of really bad experiences with his dad, people at school, people at the university, people he didn't even know, he had kept it a secret.  
Especially in front of Sherlock.

John has been interested in Sherlock since the first day they met each other. Thanks to Mike.  
And at the dinner at Angelo's, Sherlock had told him that he was married to his work and John had tried not to fall in love with him.  
But he wasn't successful, the harder he tried, the more he fell in love with this mad man. Until he gave his heart to Sherlock totally and unconditionally.  
So he had kept his secret even deeper for Sherlock. He was afraid, that if Sherlock would know that he was gay, that he would deduce that John was in love with him. And that means, that he probably loses Sherlock's friendship. And that was the last thing he wanted. Rather Sherlock's friendship than nothing.  
And now he was dead, and John had missed the chance to say Sherlock, how much he cares about him, how much he loves him. He had mumbled it to Sherlock's grave, every week, when he visits it; then he mumbled - I love you.  
But the thought, that he will never be able to tell him that in person, makes him grief even more.

Of course he had gone out with Sarah and the other lovely ladies, but that were always just nice evenings with a woman, a nice dinner, a lovely movie night, or whatever. After dinner or a movie or a drink, he had always been in a gay bar or a club, searching for someone:  
Tall, black hair, if possible a little curly, slender, deep voice.  
Searching for someone, who looked as much as possible like Sherlock and could fuck him.  
Sometimes, or actually often, he was interrupted by Sherlock's messages.  
And so he just had his imaginations and his hand.

Now after three years he couldn't let him go, his heart didn't want to let Sherlock go and so it comes, that John sometimes searched a tall, slender man, with dark hair and a deep voice and get fucked by him.

The first person, which John told that he was gay, was Mycroft. And Mycroft was the only person, who knew that John was in love with Sherlock.  
Mycroft – almost unbelievable, but Mycroft had become a close friend, a really close friend, even closer than Greg. He had taken care of John, since day one, since the day, Sherlock had jumped. They had talked so much and often with each other, not just about, how was the day, but about really intimate and deep things.  
Mycroft had changed, he had met a lovely woman, he had taken things slow with the job, wasn't in such a high position anymore. He was wearing not only suits anymore, but also casual button shirts, jeans, sometimes even a tee shirt or nice sweater - of course expensive ones. He was wearing glasses now, had often a three-days-stubble, which really suits him and since he was with Amanda, he was in such good shape.  
Every Friday they met, mostly at Baker Street 221b with Mrs. Hudson in the afternoon for a piece of cake and a coffee or tea, and then they went to Mycroft's place or back to John, with or without Amanda, sometimes there were joined by Molly and Greg.  
And not only that, they met each other sometimes on weekends, sometimes during the week.  
They had a great chemistry and sometimes John couldn't believe it.  
He really enjoyed the time he spent with Mycroft and he was such a good distraction. Even though they had talked much about Sherlock, for the last three years.

And John now know, that Mycroft had always cared about Sherlock, very much. That he didn't knew why they both broke apart like this and that he didn't really know why Sherlock has closed his heart in such a really extreme way.  
Mycroft had told him, that he always wanted to see Sherlock happy, that he had watched and stalked him to know that everything was fine, fine in a Sherlock way and that he didn't knew how to handle with him, because Sherlock always got really grumpy and upset as soon as Mycroft showed up.  
And Mycroft had told him several times that he missed his brother very much. But a thing that John doesn't knew was, that Mycroft missed Sherlock not because he was 'dead', but just as his brother, his little brother, the brother he was before Mycroft went to the university.

Today, John was appointed with Mycroft, for lunch, the F1 race in Monaco – telly of course - and maybe a takeaway for dinner, at John's place.  
As John heard the bell ringing, he went out of the kitchen, into the floor and to the door.

At the wardrobe hung Sherlock's coat and the blue scarf, as always. Mycroft and Greg had rescued both things from the police and had given it to him.


	2. He's back

_Two weeks earlier_

Mycroft drove over the grit in his driveway and parked the car under the carport; next to Amanda's car, his parents had parked on the street.  
He jumped almost out of the car, walked at a smart pace to the stoops, which lead to the front door. Mycroft took the five steps with two large jumps, fumbled the key in the hole and entered his house. He slipped out of his shoes and raced up the staircase to the living area.

Amanda had written him, just three words, an hour ago.  
He's back.  
He. Is. Back. – Sherlock is back, his little brother, finally, after three long years.  
They hadn't texted each other often, only when Sherlock had needed help from the government. Sherlock hadn't asked about John or the other people, who thought that he was dead. He didn't want to know what was happening, so that they were protected better.  
Mycroft had wanted to tell him about John, how sad he was, and how much he felt guilty, that Sherlock had miscalculated John's grieving. However Sherlock had cut him off, as he said, that he wanted to talk about John.

Mycroft was excited, he was happy that his little brother was back.  
He entered the living room, where his parents and his fiancee Amanda were sitting on the couch, Sherlock sat in the armchair.  
"Sherlock!," Mycroft said out of breathe and eyed his younger brother.  
There he sat, with shorter hair, a bit brighter too, he wore a grey button-up shirt and black trousers, no shoes. He looked better and healthier.  
Sherlock looked up, eyed the man, who stood between the door frame.  
Mycroft had a three-day stubble, wore his nearly round, light brown glasses, a pink-coloured button up shirt, checkered, the first button was open, and blue jeans.  
"Is that you Mycroft or have I another brother?" Sherlock asked.  
Mycroft didn't respond, he took the few steps to Sherlock, was overexcited and wanted to pull his brother out of the armchair and hug him, but Sherlock stood up and reached out just his hand.  
And Mycroft took it.

Sherlock took a seat again, Mycroft pulled up the armchair stool and took a seat, too.  
"How it comes that you're engaged, brother?"  
"Just met that lovely woman, two years ago. And that's what happened, when you find a person, that completes you and makes you a better person. You move in together and get married." Mycroft said and looked briefly to Amanda.  
They smiled at each other.  
Sherlock just nodded.

Silence.  
Silence, but Mycroft had the feeling that it was extremely loud, at least, in his ears.  
He didn't know what to say. He had thought that Sherlock would write him, that he comes back, maybe a few days before he rang the bell at his house.  
Thank goodness that John wasn't here any longer. A few hours ago, they had lunch together, with Amanda and his parents. Then he had driven him to the airport.  
He felt guilty, absolutely guilty, that he was pretending Sherlock would be dead in front of John. Despite the fact that they were friends and that John trusts him so much, possibly as much as Mycroft trusts him. And that was a lot.  
John was a really good and close friend; and he could say with absolutely guarantee and clarity that John and Amanda had made him a better person.

Amanda cleared her throat, looked to Carlton and Violet and said,  
"We could go to the kitchen and make dinner."  
The Holmes parents nodded and stood up with Amanda, who stroked over Mycroft's shoulder and left the living room with his parents.

Mycroft faced Sherlock.  
"Can you tell me something about John?" Sherlock asked, before his brother could say something.  
"It depends on what you want to know, Sherlock." Mycroft said.  
"Everything obviously. Where is he, I want to say hello."  
Mycroft eyed him and shook his head.  
"No, Sherlock. You'll not go to him and say hello!"  
"It's not your business!"  
"It's my business and I tell you, that you'll not go to him, say hello and pretend that the past three years weren't happend. And John isn't there anyway. So you have to wait!" Mycroft said with a stern voice.

Sherlock wrinkled his forehead.  
"You know why I have done this, Mycroft!" He spilled out. "So it's my right to explain it to him. Where is John?"  
"I wasn't saying that you're not allowed to talk to him anymore. I said you have to wait! John is on vacation, I've brought him to the airport, that's why I wasn't here when you arrived."  
"What's with your minions, that you're doing it on your own? Vacation, where is that?", snarled Sherlock.  
Mycroft didn't respond to the first question. "I'm not going to tell you that Sherlock. It's his vacation, and he deserves it; you're not going to spoil that! It's not the right moment to rise from the dead. You have to wait!  
"Piss off Mycroft, give me my keys, and I'm off, back to Baker Street and then I'll call you and tell you where John is."  
"Of course, I give you the keys, but you'll not find anything, except Mrs. Hudson. John had left Baker Street a long time ago, a few weeks after you were 'dead'." Mycroft said in a calm voice.  
"John had left Baker Street? He wouldn't do that!"  
"He would and he has. And I'm not gonna tell you his new address. I wanted to talk with you about John, but you had interrupted me and told me you didn't want to hear this. You have miscalculated John's care about you; you've left him behind like a maltreated dog. You know nothing about the past three years, and I'm not letting you go to John and shock him to death!" Mycroft stood up in rage.

Sherlock came to his feet too and faced Mycroft.  
"You're not his daddy, and you're not mine. So you can't tell me what I have to do and what I'm not allowed to do. I want to see him Mycroft!"  
"Did I have to repeat myself? You! Have! To! Wait!" Mycroft said loudly and angry, pounded his fist on the coffee table. "I tell you what Sherlock. Sit down and listen!" His voice was loud, was to hear in the kitchen. Mycroft grabbed Sherlock and pressed him down in the armchair. "Stay there!" He pointed his finger at Sherlock, who pinched his eyes together, his mouth was a thin line; he looked angry.

Mycroft cleared his throat, inwardly he was happy, really happy, for real, that Sherlock was back. He was worried about him all the time, and now he sat in his living room, alive and healthy. And that was great. However he knew John wouldn't take it easy, that Sherlock had lied, and he had lied and Molly had lied as well as Amanda and his parents. He didn't want to force John into it without a warning.  
Of course, he was able to laugh, to make jokes, to fool around, to go to pubs, cinema; he has a social life, but as soon as Sherlock becomes the topic, he was mentally and emotionally not stabile. John was his friend and that he was alright was more important at the moment.

Mycroft lifted his hand to cut off Sherlock, who wanted to say something.  
"It's my turn! Be quiet, listen and stay in that chair, brother! The morning after your death, I went to Baker Street, to visit John, he was sleeping in your bed, with your blood wet coat and scarf. Red eyes. The next weeks, he slept every night in your bed, at daytime he was sitting in your chair, making two cups of tea, making food for two, at some days he searched you and called you in the flat, until he remembered that you're dead. When I was coming around, he looked at me with big hoping eyes, and when he saw that it isn't you, the tears come up. At the end he talked with your skull, was exhausted, tired, scared, so he decided to leave Baker Street. He decided to quit his part-time job at the clinic, and he decided to not going on crime scenes anymore. His limp is back as well as his trembling hand; he needs his cane; the symptoms are there especially when he thinks too much about you. And on top, he feels guilty for your death, he thinks that he was a really bad friend, who hasn't noticed, that his best friend is tired of life, and that he wasn't able to hold him back from jumping. He saw you jump Sherlock, he saw it and you maybe have healed his nightmares about Afghanistan, but now he has nightmares about you. He's still grieving as if you jumped yesterday. And you're right; I'm not his daddy, but I'm his friend! You have to wait until John is back, when he's back then I'll talk with him and then it is his choice when he wants to talk with you. He has been waited for three years, so I think that you're able to wait a few weeks, Sherlock. And that's my last word! He's my friend, he has made me a better person; he trusts me, and I've been lying to him for three years. The only thing I can do now, is to force him not into a situation like that. And that's really nothing to discuss, Sherlock."

Sherlock was still sitting in the armchair, had listened to his older brother, and he didn't know how to deal with the news. The man in front of him looked different, he behaves differently and whether he could believe it or not, Mycroft had found a woman, who wanted to be with him. Amy – or something like that. There were a lot of different things, but he was absolutely sure, that Mycroft had told the truth. And the truth wasn't good.  
He didn't have friends, not one in his whole life, except John. He didn't know how to handle it, how to feel about those things Mycroft had told him. It wasn't good.  
Maybe, but really just maybe, his brother was right and he had miscalculated it. Maybe he had needed a Plan B for John. A Plan B, when he would be depressed and grieving like this, that Mycroft would've told him that Sherlock just faked it, with good reasons, that he would come back one day.  
And so Sherlock said nothing, he just nodded and felt sick when he thought about John.

Mycroft breathed, closed the distance between Sherlock and himself. He lays his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and squeezed it.  
"Do you want to stay for dinner and a sleep over or would you rather be alone at Baker Street?"  
Sherlock looked up.  
The option was Mycroft and maybe some more information about John or Baker Street without John, but also without Mycroft. He thought about it and he thought, that he would be able to deal with Mycroft.  
"What's for dinner?" Sherlock asked.  
"I think that Amanda wanted to make salad and lasagna."  
"Okay. And can we talk about John after dinner or tomorrow?" Sherlock asked.  
"If you behave yourself, then we can do that. But let me tell you something, if you asked me where he is or where he lives, then the conversation is over. And don't you dare to search for him on your own."  
Sherlock's lips drew again a thin line; he nodded grudgingly.  
"By the way, it's good to have you back, little brother." Mycroft said with a warm welcoming voice.

Sherlock made a disparaging sound.


	3. A book for the night

Still two weeks earlier.-

After dinner, Mycroft's and Sherlock's parents were gone.  
Even Sherlock had eaten the small bowl with salad and his plate with lasagna, which Amanda had brought him to the kitchen table.  
After the parents were gone, Amanda told the boys to go to the living room and have a drink, and that she cleans up the kitchen and calls a friend of her, so that Sherlock and Mycroft would have some time to themselves.

The brothers entered the living room again; Mycroft looked at Sherlock and asked,  
"What would you fancy?"  
"Nothing, I'm fine." Sherlock said and sat down in the armchair. "Thanks." He added after a moment.  
Mycroft nodded, went to the little bar and got himself a Whiskey, before he came back and sat down on the sofa.

Mycroft crossed his legs.  
"Well, Sherlock... do you just want to sit there or talk about you and the last three years... or about John?" Mycroft asked and took a sip from his Whiskey.  
"John. Anything else is a waste of time; it's obvious that I'm still alive, so it doesn't matter what happened in the last three years, at least - not today."  
"Good, you know the rules, let's start." Mycroft nodded and put is glass down on the coffee table.

Sherlock watched his brother; it wasn't familiar to see him like that; with his glasses, the stubble, these casual clothes, even though they were quite expensive; and then that body, which was in a good shape, and his behavior. He was unsure how to deal with this new Mycroft.  
"You said that John is your friend. What am I supposed to make of that?"  
"Like I told you. He's my friend. I looked after him the last three years, and it turned out, that we have a great chemistry. So we spend mostly every Friday afternoon and evening together; cake and tea with Mrs. Hudson in the afternoon and in the evening - well different things; at John's place or here, with Amanda or without, sometime with others; watching telly or just talking, playing games. Sometimes we're going to a pub or bar, the cinema, theater, restaurant - that sort of things."  
"Unbelievable that you were able to make a friend and find a woman, who can handle you." Sherlock said with a waspish voice.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and took a second sip.  
"Come on Sherlock, be nice. Aren't you able to have an adult conversation! You can be really proud to have a friend like John."  
"Is he still my friend?" Sherlock asked; his voice was a bit unsure.  
"Yes he is; he still is. And I think, that he still will be your friend, when you two see each other again, but you must be patient with John. Let him take the time he needs for this."  
Sherlock watched his brother, sighed and said after a while,  
"I'll try it. I don't know if I'm able to, but I'll try."  
"You know; you can stay here, with Amanda and me, as long as you want. You don't have to be alone, and you don't have to be with us every single minute if you stay here. It's okay when you stay here and have time on your own as much as you want. It's just an offer Sherlock, think about it. I don't want to control or monitor you, and I think that you would like Amanda. I mean we're at work the whole day, but you would have someone to talk with in the evening, someone who would help you with this John-thing." Mycroft said with a calm and truthful voice.  
"I'll think about your offer, brother."  
They looked at each other, and Mycroft nodded.

Mycroft took another sip of his Whiskey and twirls the glass in his hand.  
"May I ask what he's doing right now; when he isn't at the clinic and the crime scenes anymore?"  
"Yes you can," Mycroft said and nodded "He wasn't able to be a doctor anymore, or to be precise; he doesn't feel able to be a good doctor anymore, because of his leg and his trembling hand. Since two and a half years he's teaching anatomy and first aid in a physiotherapy school – two full days per week. Sometimes he teaches other medical stuff as a replacement, then he's three days, maybe four days at the school, or at least for the lessons and some pre arrangements and the post-processing. Well, and otherwise he writes books."  
Sherlock bowed his head, took the news to his mind palace, to John's big room.  
"Does he like that; the teaching and the writing?"  
"Yes. He likes both things, he feels comfortable in the school and with his author life."  
Sherlock nodded wanted to ask something as Amanda entered the room with Mycroft's mobile phone in her hand.

She smiled warmly at Sherlock and turned her head to Mycroft, smiled and handed him the mobile phone after she had sat down next to him.  
"John had sent a text." Amanda said with a warm voice.  
Sherlock turned his head to Mycroft; his heart was beating faster.  
"What's up with him; was everything well with his flight?" Mycroft asked.  
"Don't know love, I don't read your text messages, I was just ready with my phone call and your mobile phone blinked. He had sent a picture." Amanda smiled at him.  
Sherlock watched them - she was telling the truth, she doesn't read messages on other mobile phones, at least she wasn't a liar.

Mycroft smiled at her, unlocked the Iphone and opened John's message.  
"Read it out." Amanda said, wanted to know if everything was fine with her good friend John. He was the person, who had introduced Mycroft to her. Mycroft cleared his throat and read the text out loud.

"Hey Myc, flight was well but boring; movie was really shitty. Location is as great as last year, even if the house wasn't available this time. Hotel is quite nice. Thanks for lunch and driving me to the airport, mate. Have a lovely evening with Amanda, btw greetings to her. See you when I'm back. Do you fancy a lunch and a Formula 1 afternoon in two weeks time, my place? It's enough now, I suppose. – John"

"Aaw, that's lovely, greet him back and say him that I like the picture." Amanda said happily.  
Mycroft nodded and replied, while Sherlock was watching both of them - curious.  
It was strange to hear the name Myc and the word mate in relation to Mycroft and in context with John.

Mycroft sent the message and lifted his head; he smiled at Sherlock, opened the picture of John again and shoved the phone over the coffee table to his brother.  
Sherlock looked at Mycroft, was a bit surprised that he was allowed to see the picture. His eyes lowered their gaze, and he looked at the picture, eyed John.  
It was a Selfie, obviously on the balcony of his hotel room. He was standing there with a black polo shirt. He wore black sunglasses, in which one could see the reflection of the balcony railing and John's arm, his hand and the phone. He smiled, with his mouth closed. His hair was a bit longer, has a fluffy wave; it was blonde, sandy-blonde, with a lot of grey strands. Cheeks and chin showed a little stubble. He looked handsome.

Sherlock eyed John for a while, felt his heart beat faster. He looked up to Mycroft as the display went black.  
"That's... that's John?!"  
"Yes, that's John... he's quite a handsome dude and doll, isn't he?" Amanda answered with a wide grin.  
Mycroft smirked and stood up; Sherlock felt his cheeks flush.

Mycroft came to Sherlock, squeezed his shoulder.  
"I'll show you your room. I know it's just 9 am, but I think it was a quite hard day for all of us. We can come back to our conversation tomorrow, Sherlock."  
His little brother looked up with questioning eyes.  
"Can you send me that picture?"  
Mycroft smiled and nodded.  
"I'll send it to you, but I want to give you something else before." Mycroft said and went to the big bookshelf.  
He searched a book, pulled it out and came back to Sherlock.

Mycroft handed it to Sherlock.  
"It's not yours forever because there is a personal dedication for me, but you can read it and maybe in a few weeks you can ask for your personal book and dedication." Mycroft said with a smile.  
Sherlock grasped the book and eyed the cover.  
It was a little, thick book, with a hard green cover and an extra wrapper. On the cover, one could see a forest, mountains, big birds and a rising red sun. The rests of the colours were black, white, green and grey, which looked a bit like an old-dark-lilac.  
Sherlock read the name of the book, written in white letters on the mountains; and the name of the author, written in black, smaller than the title.

The Hobbit  
J.H. Watson

He stroked with his fingertips slightly across the cover, felt the vibration of his mobile phone – Mycroft had sent him the picture.  
He wasn't tired, but now he knew what he would do the whole night.  
Reading John's book and looking at that handsome picture of him.


	4. The Truth

_Present_

John was standing in the kitchen, making some pasta for Mycroft and himself, as the doorbell rang. He put the wooden spoon aside and went to the front door.  
Since a few days John was back in the UK, back at home; he had sent Mycroft and Amanda a card from Italy, Positano and on Wednesday, Amanda had picked him up at the Heathrow Airport and as nice and warm-hearted as she was, she drove him back to Potters Bar.

John opened the door.  
Just in front of him stood Mycroft, with a big, warm smile on his face.  
"Hey Myc, it's great to see you." John said, and let him in.  
They hugged each other amicably; John clapped on Mycroft's shoulder while Mycroft squeezed John's upper arm.  
"It's good to see you, too. Great to have you back. Oh, and your card was in the mail yesterday, finally." Mycroft smirked.  
"Oh Jesus, I've sent it after day four. Next time I'll bring it to the UK and give it to you in person." John grinned. "Saving money, you know."  
They walked back into the kitchen; the pasta was almost ready. Mycroft leaned against a kitchen drawer.  
"Oh, come on, as if you have to save money after your book came like a bombshell."  
John grinned and shrugged his shoulders.  
"Wasn't supposed to be like that."  
"It's a great story and you know that, John. Don't be such a shy guy." Mycroft smiled.  
"Yeah, thanks Myc. Come on, let's have lunch and after that the race is on air, we can talk later about my fame."  
John smiled charmingly, and Mycroft laughed.

John had been looking forward to this afternoon with Mycoft. He was a good fellow, and it was always fun to watch telly with Mycroft. He hadn't seen any movies, series or shows, before he met Amanda, or to be precise, before John introduced Amanda to him. And now, Mycroft was totally into it, especially in Dr. Who.  
It was nice to spend some free time with him, and it doesn't matter what they do. Regardless of whether they just sitting around, have a few pints in a pub or a nice evening in the theater or cinema, it was always quite nice and comfortable with him.  
John knew Mycroft had changed a bit, had set his priorities in a new way, but he couldn't understand why Sherlock hadn't liked him. And he knew, he would never know.

Mycroft had been also looking forward to this Sunday and John. It was great to have him back in the UK, although he really has granted him that vacation.  
The last two weeks were a bit nerve-racking, with Sherlock back in London and the knowledge that he has to tell it John.  
Sherlock has stayed the last two weeks at Mycroft's place, and Mycroft had been totally right; Sherlock liked Amanda. Sherlock was still there; they hadn't talked this much, but it was a beginning and Mycroft really appreciated that Sherlock was back in London. He was eating and drinking and sleeping almost like a normal person; that's what made him look younger and healthier. And also, Mycroft liked the new haircut.  
His brother had finished the book in the first night at Mycroft's place; he had asked for more, but there weren't more. John had published it a year ago, and it came like a bombshell; out of nowhere. It was published, and the people fell on that book like maniacs. And that included Mycroft, as well as Amanda, Greg and Molly, even Mrs. Hudson liked it. And now John was writing a kind of sequel, but he didn't reveal one single information.

Mycroft wasn't in a good mood today, at least – inwardly. Sherlock had begged at the breakfast table, that he tells it John today, and he had promised to do that. He knew John would do something bad with him; punch him or scream at him, torture him or worse - murder him. He would speak with him after the lunch and the Formula 1 race.

After lunch, they chilled down on the sofa, next to each other - with some sweets and chips. They watched the race, which started with a lot of rain and seven safety car rounds. There were a lot of crashes, a miscommunication between the driver at the pole position and his team, so that he lost his pole position after an embarrassing pit stop. The rest of the race he tried to catch Hamilton, but didn't manage it.

John had laid his legs on the coffee table as well as Mycroft. He grabbed some chips and put them into his mouth while Mycroft turned his head to him. Now or never, he told himself.  
"John?" Mycroft asked carefully.  
John turned his head and just nodded; his mouth was filled with chips.  
"I have to tell you something... "  
John bowed his head and swallowed the chips.  
"What's up mate? Is there something with Amanda?" John asked curiously.  
"No, no... it's fine; it's all fine with Amanda."  
"Okay, I thought that you had a fight with her or something, you look a bit sick. Are you alright Myc?"  
"No, it has nothing to do with Amanda. And I'm not just looking sick; I am feeling sick. I... John, I've lied to you." Mycroft said in a lower voice.

John sat up straight, eyed Mycroft and wiped his hands on his thighs. He took a deep breath, scratched his neck.  
"Is it a small and good lie, or a big and good one... or a bad one which is small or big."  
Mycroft sat up, looked at John and swallowed; he bit his lower lip and scratched his beard.  
"It's a... big one, a really big one and a bad one too... and that's maybe an understatement, but I think, that lie becomes a big and good one in a few weeks or month."  
John watched him.  
"Do I want to hear that?"  
Mycroft nodded.  
"Yes, I guess you want to hear that. John... I'm sorry; I'm really sorry. What I have to say isn't easy. I'm really sorry for that. I didn't want it like th... "  
John raised a hand and stopped Mycrofts babbling.  
"Just say it Myc. Just say it. You can't change that back. Please stop that babbling and tell me what you were lying about."

Mycroft took a deep breath, looked at John, whose face was serious and a bit afraid.  
"John... it's about Sherlock, he... he faked his death, because of Moriarty, there wasn't another possibility... Sherlock is alive... and he's back in London." His voice was low, apologetically and fast.

John's eyes were big, his mouth open; he looked very sick. The heart was racing against his chest like mad, it hammered against his chest. It was incredibly loud in his ears. His head was buzzing, his left hand was trembling. That couldn't be true.  
"You're kidding Mycroft! Please tell me that this is just a really bad prank! Please tell me that you haven't lied to me since three years."  
Mycroft said nothing, scratched his neck, looked to John.  
After a few moments of silence Mycroft said,  
"I can't, that would be a lie."

John watched his friend, pressed his right hand on the trembling one; he gasped for air.  
"No!" John said with a hopeless voice, his eyes were already filled with tears. "No. Mycroft. No."  
His heart was still racing like mad; a single first tear rolled down his cheek.  
Mycroft lay his hand on John's shoulder, but his friend slipped away to the other end of the sofa.  
"Don't!" He wiped away his tears and cleared his throat. "Don't touch me or I will punch you Mycroft. Are you... are you mad or something? What's wrong with you? You're my friend! I'm trusting you and now you tell me that... Sherlock... that Sherlock is... alive?" He stood up in rage.

Mycroft looked up to him; he sat there like a little boy who had done something really bad.  
"John... I'm sorry, I wanted to tell you... I wanted to talk with Sherlock, that you aren't in a good state, but he always cuts me off; he didn't want to hear that, it was too dangerous, for him and for you, at least that's what he told me. I'm so sorry John."  
John looked at him; his eyes were red; the tears were running down his cheeks. He was sad; it hurts; he was disappointed and upset, grumpy and mad with Mycroft and with Sherlock.

The tears were still running while he yelled.  
"You are a fucking prick! You're just a fucking prick! You and your brother!" He snuffled and dashed away his tears with the back of his right hand, the other one was still trembling. More tears were running down his cheeks. "You're my friend Mycroft! My friend, as well as your mad brother. We've talked about so many things. After... after Sherlock... you know... after that, you were the first person who was at my side; you were the first person, who made me laugh and smile again, who was available every time I needed you; you came to Baker Street, stayed there after a nightmare and you came to Potters Bars to do the same. You were the first person... I mean from the persons I met after I returned from Afghanistan, which I have told that I'm gay! Jesus, you fucking git, I've told you that I'm in love with your brother like a maniac."  
He kneaded his left hand, dashed away the tears again, but the cheeks were already wet again.

Mycroft played with his hands, didn't look to John. It was terrible to see him cry.  
"I don't know what to say John. I'm terribly sorry for this. I know you've trusted me; you still can. I would never tell Sherlock that you're gay and in love with him, not without your permission. It was all for your own safety; I know that doesn't make sense in the moment, but it will; it will make sense. I promise. You're important to me John, and please don't doubt that I'm your friend. I didn't fake that, that's real, John. And I'm very proud to have a friend like you. And I would love to have you as my brother in law. I can't change that back, I'm sorry. It will make sense in a few weeks or months."

John gasped for air; the tears streamed over his face; he snuffled, kneaded his hand. Three years he had thought, that he was a terribly friend, had thought that he would never be able to say Sherlock how much he loved him, and now his best friend and probably the love of his life was alive. He couldn't understand that.  
"How long... how long is he back?" John sobbed.  
"Two weeks. Shortly after you were gone through the security area at the airport, Amanda texted me, that he's back."  
"Why haven't you called me?! Why Mycroft... why?"  
"I didn't want to spoil your holiday, and I wanted to tell you that in person. Sorry."

John looked through is red and swollen eyes. His head buzzed; the hand trembeld; his face was grey; the nose was running; he snuffled again and again; and the tears were rolling down his cheeks like mad, made his face wet.  
He bridged the few steps to Mycroft, who looked up to him. He looked sick, honestly heart broken, because of John.  
However, John couldn't hold back; he punched Mycroft hard – with his fist, right on the nose.  
His friend was bleeding; the blood dropped from his nose to his button-up shirt.

John shook his hand, looked at Mycroft.  
"I'm sorry, but I can't think straight. And you deserved it. And I'm feeling better, a bit... at least better in the context that you lied to me."  
He buried his wet face in his hands, cried and sobbed – heart broken.  
"I hate you Myc. I just hate you."  
His whole body trembled.

Mycroft stood up, wiped with the back of his hand over his face, over the blood. It hurts, very much indeed, but John was right; he deserved it.

Mycroft stepped a little closer and caught that trembling, sobbing body in his arms. He held him close and muttered softly,  
"No John... you don't hate me."

John sank into his friend's hug.


	5. Still Friends

John hung in Mycroft's protectively hug.  
His body was shaking; he pressed the face against Mycroft's collarbone; it was wet; the tears were rolling steadily.  
Mycroft nursed him softly in his arms, forth and back, slowly and gently. The blood was dripping from his nose.

John couldn't think straight; it was too much; too much for his small body and his big heart. He didn't know what to think. His head was still buzzing, and he didn't know if he wanted to wake up from a bad dream or to believe that Sherlock was alive. His Sherlock, that man who saved his life; he had met him in the right moment, as his life was destroyed; destroyed by nightmares, losing his job and PTSD.  
He had needed Mycroft's hug; it was balm for his broken soul.  
The shaking and trembling of his body stopped slowly as well as the crying and sobbing.  
He moved his arms, hugged Mycroft back and hung on for dear life.

Mycroft stroked John's back.  
"He's back; everything is fine John; everything is fine. I'm here. You've him back" Mycroft murmured with a stuffy nose. "Do you want me to stay?"  
John nodded slowly.  
Mycroft loosened his hug, looked down to John, who looked up at him. They swallowed hard.  
Mycroft because of John's heart-broken look; John because of the blood on Mycroft's face.

John cleared his throat.  
"Sorry... for that, I'll fix it. Sit... just sit down." John mumbled and broke apart. "And hung your head forward... well, and press your nasal wings with two fingers against each other - for several minutes; I'll tell you when you can stop. It didn't look like it's broken. I'm back in a tick." He ordered with a clearer voice.  
Mycroft nodded and sat down while John disappeared.

At the time when John came back into the living room, Mycroft sat on the sofa; his head hung forward; he pressed his nasal wings against each other. John lay a cold, wet cloth on his friend's neck and squatted down in front of Mycroft.  
He patted the blood away with a sterile pad.  
"I don't want to be in the way, when you're really angry." Mycroft said.  
"I'm sorry Myc, I... I couldn't hold that back. It was necessary to feel better."  
"It's okay. It's another way to get patients; doing the injuries on your own and then fix it. It's like a firefighter, who starts the fire." Mycroft smiled and breathed through his mouth.  
John smiled a bit.

Mycroft looked at John while his friend took care of him. He laid his hand on John's upper arm; caressed him with the thumb.  
John looked into Mycroft's eyes, swallowed and murmured,  
"You can stop; it isn't bleeding anymore. It's possible that you will look a bit... damaged the next few days. Sorry." John said and took Mycroft's hand away from its nasal wings as well as the damp cloth from its neck.  
He cleaned Mycroft's nose and then the hand.  
"I'm right back... then we can go on with our conversation."  
He disappeared before Mycroft could say a word.

While John was cleaning his hands and the cloth in the bathroom, Mycroft sent a text to Amanda, that he would stay at John's place and be at home the next evening after work.

John entered the living room and sat down on the sofa again. He ran his hand across his face, then through his hair. The other hand lay on his thigh; he kneaded the slightly trembling hand.  
"Am I the only person who thought... that?" John asked insecure.  
"No... no you're not. A few persons knew it... me, our parents, Amanda since a while now and Molly. Um, well... John, um, you're now the last person, who learns that he is back. Greg and Mrs. Hudson and the others knew it since a week." Mycroft said and squeezed John's shoulder. "Look... John, you're such a good and close friend, I didn't want to tell you that via text or a call. I didn't want that you're alone when you get the news. I wanted to talk to you in person and well - you were on vacation; that's why I have waited."  
John nodded slowly, rubbed his fingertips across his temples, he has headaches.

John's heart was racing; he massaged his temples and his forehead.  
"Does he know where I am? Did you tell him something about me? Is he... is he okay?" John asked fast, there were so many question in his head.  
"I haven't told him where you are, and I have asked him not to search you. It was our deal; I'm going to talk with you, and then it is your decision when you would like to see him. And he told me to try to be patient. He knows, that you're no longer at Baker Street, that you're not longer at the clinic and crime scenes... he knows, that you work as a medical teacher and write books. By the way, he had read your book, and he asked for more, I think he really likes it. And well, he was at our place, when you sent that picture of you, you know, from the hotel room; I showed him the picture. He was surprised how you look like. And he's fine. His hair is shorter, less curly, a bit brighter, slightly other clothes; he looks healthier. I think we both have changed in the last three years."

John listened, nodded, scratched his neck. He was surprised that Sherlock has read the book, but he was more curious about something else.  
"Was he surprised in a positive or negative way? And do you have a picture of him? What's that all about, why was it necessary to fake such a... thing?"  
"I'm sorry... I haven't a picture of him. He was positive with your look." Mycroft smirked a bit "He had asked if that is you and Amanda said, that you're a dude and a doll, then he flushed. I think; he finds you quite handsome."  
John's cheeks flushed and he scratched his neck again.

Mycroft squeezed John's upper arm.  
"Your other question, it's a bit complicated. The simple version is, that Moriarty was a psychopath, who loved to play games with other people. He told Sherlock to jump, or Greg, Mrs. Hudson and you would die, immediately. It was his only solution at this time, to fake it, to fake his... "  
John cuts him off.  
"Don't say that word!"  
"... to fake that. He wanted to save and protect you and Mrs. Hudson and Greg; in the last three years he... eliminated Moriarty's network, to be sure, that you were all fine and in safety. I think you should talk with Sherlock about that in more detail. I can't give you all the answers, not because I don't want to, just because I don't know all the answers."

"It's too much Myc... I can't handle this at the moment. It's just too much; I mean... I thought that I was a horrible friend for the last three years, who didn't notice that his friend is tired of life, and I thought that I had missed the chance to tell him the truth, about me, about my feelings for him. I saw him... on the rooftop, on the ground, with all that blood. I can't deal with it; not now. I mean, I was at his grave... three years, every week. Since three years, I have nightmares, frequently; I need the cane sometimes, not because I haven't enough action, because I'm grieving, because I'm thinking too much about him; it's the other way round. My hand is trembling as well. It's just too much, Myc. I don't think, that I want to see him right now. I need some time for this." John swallowed hard.  
He rubbed across his face, breathed for air.

Mycroft patted John's shoulder.  
"That's okay; I have talked about that with Sherlock. He said it's okay; he will try to wait for you, and the last two weeks he managed it quite well. I think he misses you as much as you miss him. He begged this morning during breakfast, that I am telling you the truth today. John, if Sherlock asks me about today, am I allowed to tell him what you have said, and what you have done?"

John didn't say a word, he thought about the things Mycroft said and after a few minutes of silence, John looked at him and nodded.  
"As long as you make sure, that he didn't deduce that I'm gay or in love with him. That's something between Sherlock and me and when I'm able to meet him again, I want to tell him that on my own. Some day."  
Mycroft nodded.

John nodded, too. He had the urgent need to cry - not just a bit. He had the urgent need to cry and sob a lot, the whole evening, the whole night, the whole next week.  
He pressed his thumb and the forefinger on the bridge of his nose, kneaded his left hand. He was confused. The truth was; he didn't want to see Sherlock right now, but on the other side and that was also the truth, he wanted and needed to see him, he wanted to hug him, to clung at him, never let him go again.

Mycroft put his hand on the trembling one of John.  
"John, I'm staying here all night, okay. I'm there if you need me. You know I am. How about a takeaway, and if you want we go on with talking about Sherlock, or I distract you, we are watching telly, and I make you laugh and annoy you with my questions during the program."

"I'm for the second one... watching telly and hear your silly, annoying questions." John murmured with a light smile.

And so it comes that Mycroft and John ordered Italian takeaway and hung on the sofa; Mycroft with his constantly annoying, silly questions, because he didn't understand the meaning of that new telly program, and John next to him, cuddling with a blue, soft scarf, answering all the questions with a chuckle.


	6. A good or a bad sign

_At Mycroft's and Amanda's Place_

Sherlock hadn't been on a case with Greg since he was back. And to tell the truth, he didn't feel the urge to go on some one soon. He was even so used to John's presence or at least to talk with John about the case, that he didn't feel the thrill without John anymore. However, he helped Greg with some cases via texts and calls.

He spent the whole day in his mind palace, was lying in the guestroom, Mycroft has provided to him. They hadn't talked much in the last two weeks, but at least they hadn't fought with each other; and Sherlock began to like the new Mycroft, as well as Amanda.  
She was smart, clever and funny, and she could handle him. She was an ordinary woman, but in a very special and lovely way, it felt like she was extraordinary.  
But as nice as she was, Sherlock would have scared her away if John would have dated her.

Sherlock heard the knock on the door and then Amanda's voice.  
"Sherlock, dinner is ready. Are you coming or didn't you want anything? I can put something away for later."  
Sherlock stood up from the bed and opened the door.  
"Is Mycroft back?"  
Amanda looked up at him and shook her head.  
"No Sherlock, I'm sorry, he isn't, he texted me, that he would stay in... well, stay at John's place. He won't be back until tomorrow evening. But I have made some pasta for the two of us, if you like." She said softly with no pressure.  
Sherlock bowed his head, he didn't like the fact that Mycroft wouldn't come back tonight. Mycroft said this morning, that he would go to John for lunch and that car race; Formula 1 or something like that; and maybe for some takeaway afterwards, but he didn't mention that he would stay there the whole night.  
"Okay... I'm coming with you." Sherlock said and went with Amanda into the kitchen.

While Amanda filled the plates and the glasses, Sherlock sat down on one chair, playing with his fork.  
"Is this normal, Amanda? That Mycroft stays there?" Sherlock asked curious.  
"Yes, generally it is Sherlock." Amanda said and put down the plates, then sat down. "Sometimes, you know, when they watch too much telly, have a few beers or other drinks or they are going out in London; and if they're too tired to drive home, then Mycroft has a sleep over at John's place or John is sleeping here in the guestroom."  
Sherlock listened, nodded and looked at the pasta, he pointed with the fork to them.  
"Um... thanks for that."  
"You're welcome." She smiled at him gently.

They ate for a while until Sherlock picked at the last few tortellini.  
"It isn't normal this time, isn't it? It's a bad sign."  
"You are the one who can make this amazing deductions, Sherlock." Amanda smiled and drank a sip of her water.  
"I don't know, I'm a bit confused at the moment. Mycroft changed so much... and John in some way. I mean not in a bad way, but it's different and I wasn't here the last three years. I think you know him better; John I mean."  
Amanda bowed her head and put the fork next to her plate and looked at Sherlock.  
"I think it is good and bad. It's both Sherlock. I think it's a good sign for Mycroft, maybe a bit for you. If Mycroft stays at John's place, then John forgave him that lie and that's a bit good for you isn't it? If he forgave Mycroft, then probably he will forgive you, too. However... it's more a bad sign for you, if I'm honest... and for John. If Mycroft stays there, then John isn't in a good state. I think Mycroft wants to stay, so John has someone to talk and someone who can comfort him, at least that evening and the night. I would say, that you must be patient for another few weeks, Sherlock; until you will see John."  
"I don't like what you say." Sherlock admitted in a low voice.

Amanda looked softly at him.  
"Look, Sherlock, it's a big thing. It was too much for John and now he learned that you aren't dead. I don't want to talk with you about John in detail. I think, that's a conversation you two should have; in a calm ambience, just the two of you. He needs time Sherlock, but I know that John misses you very much and I'm sure you will see him in a week or two, maybe three. And I'm sure you will bridge this time as well as you have the last two weeks. Really, Sherlock, please... please don't search for him and visit him. It's the worsest thing you could do; don't push and force him into it, if you do that, you will lose him more than you will get him back. When he's ready, he will text or call and he will be thankful for your patience. I know you don't like, when someone says what you have to do; but Sherlock... just believe me and Mycroft. We didn't want something bad for you. You can trust us, we're always there for you, you know that, right? Use it." Amanda smiled cheerily.

Sherlock eyed her, picked up one of the last tortellinis.  
"I'm not used to that sort of things... feelings and that patient-thing. Or that new Mycroft. It's really hard to handle that all. I thought I'm coming back and then all is fine and done. Meanwhile, I must say, it was a bit naive." Sherlock said and looked at the tortellini on his fork "Are you sure with that Amanda? Can you promise me, that John will come back to me, that he will talk to me again, that he will be my friend again? Can you promise me that?"

Amanda watched Sherlock, who played with the rest of his pasta. She smiled broadly.  
"Don't kill my pasta Sherlock." She smirked and pulled his plate away.  
Sherlock grinned a bit, ate the tortellini on his fork and put the fork away.  
"And it wasn't just a bit naive, it was extremely naive. But it's okay. Really, it's okay. You do that... patient-thing, how you call it, very well. And Mycroft isn't that new, I think you two should talk as well." She smiled and bowed her head. "I can promise that he will come back to you, that he will talk to you and that he will be your friend again. Just be patient and wait for him, I promise you it will be worthwhile; and I tell you what, I keep my promises. You can deduce me, Mr. Holmes, I'm telling the truth." She winked and pointed smiling with her finger to Sherlock. "Do you fancy some chocolate dessert?"

Sherlock couldn't help but grinned at her commentary about the deductions. He ran his hand through his hair.  
"Well, thanks, I suppose. Don't think that I'm able to eat more, maybe later. Thanks Amanda."  
"Anytime." She smiled widely. "And the pudding is in the fridge if you have chocolate cravings."  
Sherlock nodded and smiled.  
"Let's go to the living room. If you want, I could show you some pictures of John."  
"Are you allowed to do that?"  
"I show you the pictures of my birthday in May, we had celebrated it here in the garden. So just some pictures of John. And I trust you. Don't play with that." She grinned.  
"It's two months ago... but well, a lately Happy Birthday."  
She stood up and smiled with a nod.

Amanda took him into the living room; they sat on the sofa with Amanda's tablet and she opened the order with her birthday pictures of this year.  
Not every picture showed John, a few showed the Holmes parents, a few obviously Amanda's parents, then some other women and men and kids, obviously some of them were couples with their children, and then there was Mycroft.  
One of the photos showed a slender woman, with long, blonde, light brown hair, dark green eyes and casual good looking clothes. John stood behind her, was hugging her. She smiled widely, so does John, and on top of that, he winked at the camera with his charming smile.  
"Who's this woman?" Sherlock asked and in his voice one could hear that he was jealous.  
"It's Drew. She's lovely, just like me." Amanda grinned.  
"Is this John's... you know... girlfriend?" He asked curious and tried to hide the jealously tone in his voice.

Amanda looked at the picture. She knew that John was absolutely gay. There was never a single woman in his life. Actually, he had never tried it and he didn't want to, because he was just attracted to men. And he had told her, that he couldn't even imagine being involved in a sexual or romantic way with a woman. But she doesn't know how much he was in love with Sherlock.

"No. It's just Drew. She's one of John's colleagues at the school and his best friend; female best friend. She's happily married for a few years and has two daughters. They were sick with a flu, that's why just Drew was there and her husband looked after the kids. You don't have to worry, he isn't in a relationship." Amanda smirked at the end.  
Sherlock felt caught, his cheeks flushed.  
"It's cute when you're blushing."  
"I'm not cute!" Sherlock protested with red cheeks and ears.  
"If you say so, Mr. Holmes." Amanda smirked and scrolled through the birthday pictures.

John looked dashing in all these pictures, the hair was a bit shorter, but as grey and sandy-blonde as in the picture from his vacation, in Italy; Mycroft showed him the card yesterday. He had gelled it back to the right side – fluffy and loosely. He wore sunglasses, blue jeans, a checkered button up shirt (blue, red and white), with the sleeves rolled up, and white sneakers. A beard, older than three days across his cheeks, his chin, his upper lip. He was smiling in some of the pictures, and laughing; in some he just sat or stood around, in some he pulled faces or smiled in a very charming way.

Sherlock's heart beats faster in his chest and his stomach tingled. That man looked handsome, absolutely handsome and dashing. Sherlock felt how his cheeks flushed again as he looked at the pictures. He really liked what he saw. That man was gorgeous, even with this beard; and he couldn't decide what he liked more, John with or without a beard, it was too hard to decide, he was just too cute.


	7. A sleepless night

_John's Place, Potters Bar, Hertfordshire_

Mycroft and John had watched telly until late after midnight.  
Now Mycroft was lying in the guest room; he was asleep, had told John, that he could wake him up if he needs him, no matter whether he has to work in the morning or not.

John lay in is bed on his back; the arms were crossed under his head, he stared at the ceiling. He didn't want to sleep. He knew, he would have a nightmare as soon as he falls asleep. So he kept himself awake.

His thoughts wandered to Sherlock, to his best friend Sherlock, who was alive. The last three years he was thinking, that Sherlock was...  
He pinched his eyes together. He didn't like this word.  
John wanted to swallow the tears away, but he wasn't successful. The tears rolled slowly out of his eyes, down to the pillow.  
After a few minutes he broke into a passion of tears.  
He rolled to the side, grabbed the blue scarf, pressed him to his heart, and curled up like a ball.

John was crying uncontrollably, he was sobbing in silence and sobbing loudly, the body was shaking immensely.  
He pressed the scarf closer, felt the soft fabric and buried his face in it. It didn't smell like Sherlock, he had to wash the scarf three years ago, because of all this blood, but he felt safe with that scarf in his arms and that soft fabric against his cheeks.  
Why? Why have all those people comforted him, although they knew that Sherlock was alive? Why had nobody just said one word to him? Just one word.  
Three years, that's such a long time.

He sobbed again loudly.  
His heart raced fast in his chest, loud against the rib cage. He couldn't calm down.  
His throat hurt, as well as his face, from all the crying.  
He bit is lower lip and pinched his eyes and buried the face deeper into the soft and warm fabric.  
He took a deep breath, again and again. He needed some air, to fill his lungs again.

The left hand was trembling and he had the feeling that his leg hurts very much. He knew it was psychosomatic, but that didn't change that it was hurting, or that he has that feeling. He wasn't able to switch that off.  
He wiped his tears away and sat up; placed the scarf on his pillow, then he stood up slowly and snuffled.  
For the first time in four weeks he took his cane and went down the stairs. He needed some time and made the last step from the stairs into the living area. He walked to the big wooden dining table and sat down.  
John looked around, grabbed his tablet and pressed the 'on' button.  
As soon as the tablet was ready to be used, he opened the folder with the pictures he has taken, then the folder with the name 'Sherlock Holmes'.  
There weren't many pictures, but at least a few. He opened the last picture he had taken of Sherlock.

John sat on the chair, the cane leaned against the dining table; his elbow leaned on the dining table and he cupped his chin in his hand.  
He looked at the picture, with sad eyes, they had lost every brightness. The tears were rolling down his cheeks.  
His forefinger stroked with a little tremble softly over Sherlock's cheek.  
John sighed.  
That man in the picture was alive. John smiled, at least a bit. Sherlock was alive, that means, he could see him again, if he wanted to, right now; or to be precise, in an hour, that was the time one needed from Potters Bar to London - with a car. The only thing he needed to do was calling Amanda and tell her, that he wants to see Sherlock. Then he could see him, maybe punch him, hug him, an other option would be to punch him; he could tell him, how much he had missed him, how much he loved him, and then he could punch him; maybe he wouldn't punch him at all.

He loved this man so much. He hadn't had a type of man, but as he met Sherlock, he noticed how much he loved deep voices and dark hair. He fancied those incredible eyes, which switched their colour, those cheekbones, the shape of Sherlocks lips. And then this body; tall, slender, pale. Bloody hell, he was just gorgeous.  
The image in his head of Sherlock's bare chest, the bare back and those little pieces of his bum, he had seen in the Buckingham Palace, made him shiver and goose bumps spread over his body.  
His heart raced and his stomach tingled.  
He fell into a daydream, how it would be with Sherlock at his side, to kiss him goodnight, to kiss him goodbye, to kiss him just because those lips were an invitation - a really hot one; to cuddle with him, would he like that? Probably it would be really great to be kissed by these lips or to feel these fingers on his bare skin, softly and tenderly; to hear his deep voice talking, laughing, moaning.  
Damn it, he was too much into it. His heart had been fallen into love with that mad men, really deep, with no way out. This was the point of no return - not just now; he had reached that point of no return at the first day they met.

However, Sherlock wasn't his league. John laughed bitterly. John with his little belly and his nearly grey hair, the wrinkles and his small body.

He had thought that he would never be able to tell Sherlock, how much he loves him. He had blamed himself, that he hadn't given it a go.  
He had been a coward, hadn't said anything and then suddenly Sherlock wasn't with him anymore. He had missed the chance once, he didn't want to miss it twice.  
John closed his eyes, take a breath and decided to talk with Sherlock about that, as soon as possible.  
When he would be able to visit him, when they had talked about the last three years and Sherlock's mad idea to jump or not to jump from a high building in front of his best friend.

The thoughts about that day and that he didn't know how that was even possible, made him angry. He saw him jump, he saw it! How could he have survived? He was there, he knelt in front of Sherlock, with all that blood. That was Sherlock! Or was it just a man with a mask, like in Mission Impossible?  
He felt the anger in his stomach and ruffled his hair.  
His gaze went to the picture again, he closed it with fast and angry taps and shoved the tablet aside.  
It slid over the wooden table, near to the edge.  
"Fuck you Sherlock Holmes." John said angrily and took his cane.

He stood up, wiped his tears away. His eyes were red and swollen.  
He went to the kitchen; he knew Mycroft would get up every moment, to take a shower and drive back to London and to his work. John brewed coffee for his friend, heard the shower on the first floor and made him a sandwich.

The coffee brewed, the sandwich was ready to eat and John walked with his cane to the huge mirror in the hallway.  
He looked into it, saw his red an swollen face, the cane in his right hand, how he kneaded his left hand.  
Jesus, he was glad that he didn't have to go to school today; the students had summer holidays – thank goodness. Summer holidays since two weeks, since the beginning of July, until the beginning of September. That was good, really good, so he would have time to take care of this new situation.

In the corner of his eye, he saw the coat, how it hung on one of the pegs. He turned to the coat and gave him a hard punch with his trembling hand. The coat was soft, but the wall behind was hard. He pulled a face and shook his fist. It hurts.

Mycroft came downstairs and looked at John.  
"John... " He bowed his head and came to him.  
John looked up.  
"Morning."  
"Have you really punched that coat?"  
"Why do you ask, when you have seen it?"  
Mycroft squeezed John' shoulder.  
"Come on, boy. I think you need some ice for that." He shoved him into the kitchen. "Sit down John. You haven't slept, haven't you? You have cried the whole night, instead of waking me up."  
John sat down at the little kitchen table while Mycroft got some ice for John.  
"Yeah, you're totally right." John murmured tired and exhausted, but one could also hear the anger and the sadness, as well as his total confusion.

Mycroft came to him, put the ice on John's fist.  
"There is coffee and a sandwich for you, Myc."  
Mycroft turned his head.  
"Thanks John. Oh great... it's the to go version. Thank you John."  
Mycroft turned his head back to John, stroked his shoulder.  
"Are you sure that I can go to work? If you want me to stay, I will stay."  
"Its... it's okay, Myc. You can go... maybe I will try to sleep or something like that."  
"Please call me or Amanda if you need something, John. That's not a plea, it's an order. Call!" Mycroft said and stroked across John's upper arm. "I'm sorry John, I'm terribly sorry. Take your time and when you're ready for Sherlock, just say it and I'll send him over or I'll pick you up. I'll talk with Sherlock later and I promise you that he'll wait until you're ready."  
John nodded slowly.  
"Thanks again for the coffee and the sandwich. I'm off to work. Call me John, if there is anything you need."  
"I'll call you... "  
Mycroft nodded and patted John's hair.

After that, Mycroft grabbed the coffee and the sandwich and went to the door.  
"See you old bean."  
"See you, Myc."

The door fell into the lock and John's head sank to the kitchen table.


	8. Mycroft has some news

_Mycroft's place, London, the same day_

Amanda and Sherlock were waiting for Mycroft, who should bring their ordered Indian takeaway. They sat in the living, more specifically, Amanda sat on the sofa and Sherlock stood at the windows and was watching the street and the driveway.  
If he was honest, he was very nervous; he hadn't eaten the whole day, because he had thought too much about what Mycroft would have to say. So he had been lying on the sofa, deep down in his thoughts, without one single thought about food. Now his stomach rumbled; in the meanwhile he was too much used to food, as that he could come through the day without it.  
Sherlock saw Mycroft's car and one could also hear it, as he drove over the grit in the driveway.  
"Oh, he's coming." Amanda smiled "It's about time, I'm starving."  
Sherlock nodded and came back to the coffee table and the armchair.  
"Let's eat first, Sherlock; before you pelt him with questions."

One could hear the door in the basement, and a moment later the creak of some stairs; then Mycroft entered the living room with a few bags in his hands.  
Amanda widened her eyes.  
"Bloody hell, darling! What happened to your face? Are you okay?" Amanda asks and stood up. "Do you need some ice or anything else."  
Mycroft put the bags down on the coffee table. In the region of his nose as well as under his eyes, he had lilac blotches; it was a bit swollen.  
Sherlock eyed him – John.  
"I'm okay, hun." Mycroft smiled and gave Amanda a kiss on the temple. He got one back on one of his cheeks and then he turned to Sherlock. "Hey Sherlock." Mycroft smiled.  
"Hello brother." Sherlock nodded.

Mycroft smiled and insinuated that Amanda should sit down. She eyed him and then sat down again, Mycroft followed her and unpacked the bags.  
"John happened. It's all okay, I'm fine. He fixed it and I will look sexy as always in a few days." He grinned at the end.  
Sherlock snorted with a laugh and Amanda rolled her eyes with a big grin.  
"John punched you because of your lie." Sherlock stated.  
Mycroft reached Sherlock and Amanda their ordered food.  
"Yes, John punched me and then he said sorry. It was okay, I don't blame him."

Amanda took her fork.  
"Okay, we're talking while we're eating." She said a bit alarmed.  
Mycroft watched his brother and his fiancee; he mixed the rice with the chicken and the sauce.  
"He isn't in a good state. He couldn't believe it, he thought I wanted to prank him. He cried and he was very angry and upset... grumpy as always, and he called me names or to be more precise, both of us. I mean Sherlock and me. We're fucking pricks, he said. However, I didn't think, that he means that. He was just very upset and confused."  
"He cried?" Sherlock asked.  
Amanda chewed her rice; she looked empathetic.  
"Yes, and that's an understatement. He cried his heart out, he sobbed, his body was shaking and his hand was trembling." Mycroft said and sighed. "Then he punched me and said, that he hates me."  
Sherlock watched Mycroft, he was starving, but he hadn't eaten until now, his fork just stuck in one of the chicken pieces.  
Amanda bowed her head.  
"What have you done after that?" Amanda asked.  
"Comforted him. I have hugged him until he calmed down, then he fixed my nose and we ordered takeaway and talked about that situation."  
"What did he say... about me... and when will we see each other?" Sherlock asked, his voice was sad.  
"It's too much for him Sherlock... at the moment. It's just a bit too much. Look Sherlock, he felt guilty for your death and he thought three years, that his best friend committed suicide. I know he misses you a lot, but he needs some time to handle that situation. I promise you he will be very happy that you're back."  
Sherlock didn't know what to say, he just picked at his food. He has a guilty conscience.

"How was the night?" Amanda asked after a while.  
Mycroft cleared his throat.  
"He didn't sleep the whole night. Red, swollen eyes and face, big bags under his eyes. I didn't know what he had done the whole night, but I guess he kept himself busy to not fall asleep – nightmares, you know?... But I saw him this morning... how he punched the coat."  
"The coat? My coat?" Sherlock asked.  
"Yes, your coat, it hangs in the hallway, he punched it and then his hand was hurting, I gave him some ice."  
Sherlock sighed, ate some of his chicken and the rice.

Amanda looked at Mycroft, she was very worried about John.  
"Why do you leave him alone?"  
"Amanda... I asked him, he said, it's okay. You know that this isn't something to discuss. John is stubborn. If he doesn't want me to stay, then it's better to leave. You know you can't urge him to something. Then he will cloister himself away. I told him, that he should call, if there's anything he needs. He knows we are there and he will use it, if he wants to."  
"Are you two sure that I will ever see him again?" Sherlock interrupted.

Mycroft and Amanda turned their heads to him.  
"Brother... Sherlock, you can believe me, you will. You will see him again, I promise."  
"What makes you sure about that?"  
"I know him, I was at his side the last three years, to comfort him, to be his friend, to make sure he didn't make anything bad with himself, to make sure that he will never forget you, that if you come back, your John is still there. And John becomes a very good and close friend. I know how much he's grieving and how much he's missing you. You're his best friend Sherlock. And he will come back in the next few weeks, because he will be afraid of never see you again, if you would die for real."  
Sherlock looked down at his food and swallowed.  
"It's hard to wait and not to search him. And it's hard to hear that... that he's crying... and that it is my fault. I didn't realize that he cares so much about me."  
"He cares a lot, that's what friends do, they care about each other, as well as brothers... or anybody else. If you like some, you care about him, if someone is important to you, you care about him and then you want, that everything is well, that they're happy and healthy... "  
Sherlock eyed him, he knows that Mycroft wasn't just talking about John, he was also talking about their own relationship as brothers. "Sherlock, I think, we two should talk, too. I know you have something else in your mind at the moment and that's okay, but I would like to talk with you about us... as soon as the situation with John and you is cleared. Think about that, I think it would do us good."  
"Let's solve at first the John-thing and then we will see." Sherlock said.  
Mycroft nodded and drank a sip.  
"You didn't have to wait long, Sherlock. John will think about it and I guess he will talk to you before he has to go back to school. Summer holidays, at the moment until September; seven weeks to go until school starts again, I think he wants to prepare a bit, so he won't talk to you a week before; six weeks to go, so I guess that he will talk to you in the next five weeks. 'Cause at the moment he's just at home, writes his book and has some appointments as an author."

Sherlock chewed his chicken and rice and swallowed.  
"If you say so, then I think that I haven't another choice as believing in what you're saying."  
"I'm right Sherlock, so you can believe me without any doubt."  
Sherlock hummed.

"You mentioned another book... " Sherlock said after a moment.  
"It's a sequel... we didn't know more about that. We've tried to figure it out, but John didn't say one word. So we all have to wait until it's published."  
"And there is just the one book?"  
"Yes, Sherlock, there's just 'The Hobbit'. He had written it over a long time, there were just a lot of notes in a book, and after your jump, he sat down and write the notes into chapters and write the book properly... a year and a half. He researched a lot of things and invented a lot of things for that book. If he wasn't in school, he sat the whole day at his laptop. So I guess, we have to wait a while for his new book. Read the Hobbit again, in the meantime." Mycroft smiled.  
Sherlock looked at him and bowed his head.  
"I have read it twice... "  
"Then read a third time, it's really good, they plan to translate it to a lot of different languages and there's something else, but John cloak that thing in secrecy."  
"I know it's good... maybe I'll read it again." Sherlock smiled.

In the end, Sherlock took the book after dinner with him to the guest room. Normally he didn't like that fantasy stuff, but John's book was absolutely fantastic and well written. He could read it every day and it wouldn't become boring.

He laid the book next to him on the bed, grabbed his mobile phone and opened that Italy-John-picture. Sherlock eyed him, he felt his heart racing, his stomach tingling and his cheeks flushing. That little smile on John's face, makes him smile, too.  
He missed him like nobody else. Every day he feels the urge to search for him, to visit him, to see him finally; however, he resisted that urge.  
For John.  
He didn't want to destroy anything.  
He didn't want to make the next big mistake.


	9. Two options

_Saturday, two weeks later, John's place_

It was lunchtime and John was sitting in his garden; wearing only a tee-shirt and a short pants. The sun was shining and he was working on his new book.  
The last two weeks hadn't been much productive. The most time he was distracted by his thoughts.  
Thoughts about Sherlock and the situation, that he was alive.  
Thoughts about Mycroft and his lie.  
Thoughts about Amanda and Molly and the Holmes parents and their lies.  
All the time, he sat in front of his laptop and wanted to write, but constantly his thoughts didn't wander into the world of Middle Earth, they wandered to Sherlock.  
In the last two weeks, he had cried as often as he had three years ago; when Sherlock had jumped, when he had seen him on the ground with all that blood.  
His feelings were a mixture of confusion, anger, sadness and happiness.  
He couldn't decide whether he should burst with joy or burst with anger.

Today was a good day.  
After his breakfast he had gone out in the garden, since then, he was taking advantage of the great weather. For nearly four hours, he had sat outdoors and had wrote on the new chapter.  
However, his mobile phone distracted him with a text noise.  
He leaned back in his garden chair and pulled up his phone.  
It was Mycroft; he opened the message and read it.

 _"Hey John, do you fancy a barbecue later? The weather is great, at least in London. It's just Amanda, me and Sherlock. I don't know if you want to come when he's here, too, but I wanted to ask you, anyway. Think about it, we would be pleased to see you. If you don't feel comfortable with it, then it's okay if you stay at home. There's enough food, so if you decide it spontaneously, it's enough if you write me, when you're on your way. If you need someone, who pick you up, text me; then I'll send someone."_ \- Mycroft

John bowed his head and read the message twice, his fingers hovered over the keys.  
He answered Mycroft after a while.

 _"Hey Myc, can't decide this at the moment. I'll text you later, mate."_ \- John

 _"Feel free to make your lovely potato salad with the apple pieces, if you come over. By the way, that's your entrance ticket."_ \- Mycroft

John grinned after he has read the new text from Mycroft.

 _"I'll think about it, and if there is time to make the salad, then I'll make it. :-D. I'll text you later, Myc. Give me some time."_ – John

John laid the phone down on the table. He ran his hand through is hair. At the thought, that he maybe would see Sherlock later, his heart begun to beat really fast. He closed his eyes, tried to regulate his heartbeat.  
There were two options.  
Seeing Sherlock and maybe dying because of a heart attack.  
Not seeing Sherlock and not dying because of a heart attack.

Option number one, was the brave solution; the solution to make a step out of his comfort zone and finally meeting Sherlock again. He could do something about his love sickness and he wouldn't need to miss him any longer.  
There was just one reason to not do it and that was his courage.

Option number two, was the cowardly solution; the solution without making a step out of his comfort zone. It was the easy way. He would be able to think about their first meeting again and again and again.  
He knew, there were so many reasons not to choose that option. It wouldn't get better, if he hides himself any longer; actually, it would get worse. He wouldn't see Sherlock, he would still miss him.

The easiest way would be to text Mycroft, that he stays at home, but he didn't want to go the easy way. He wasn't a coward and he wanted to see Sherlock. He needed to go to that barbecue, a better chance for their second first meeting wouldn't come. Amanda was there and Mycroft was there and when he couldn't handle the situation any longer, then he could go home.

John opened his eyes, his heart beats faster and he grabbed his phone.  
He texted Mycroft; he knew himself well enough, he wouldn't cancel a date if he had agreed before.  
He looked at his text and pressed with his shaking forefinger the 'send'-button.

 _"I'm coming. You don't have to send a minion, I'll take a cab. At what time?"_ \- John

John stood up, saved his document a few times, on his laptop, an external hard drive and a USB flash drive.  
He took the laptop with him and put it down on the wooden dining table; afterwards he went to the kitchen, to fulfill Mycroft's potato salad wish.

The potatoes cooked and John sliced the other things he needed for the salad; onions, pickles, apples.  
As his phone vibrated and buzzed in his pants pocket, he put down the knife and fished his phone out of his pocket.

 _"John, that's great. I'm glad you come over. Barbecue at 7 pm. Do you like beards?"_ – Mycroft

John wrinkled his forehead.

 _"What?! Why the hell do you ask me that? Btw, you don't have to shave for me. I fancy your brother, you aren't my type. I'm sorry."_ – John

 _"I'm his brother, we have something in common, John. And I'm not talking about me. I'm talking about the guy you fell in love with; he has a beard, a three-day-beard.*smirk*"_ – Mycroft

 _"Don't send me your facial expressions, Myc! And yeah, you two have something in common – tall. Um, well, I like guys with beards. Stop questioning now!_ _See you later."_ \- John

 _"Are we blushing Dr. Watson?"_ \- Mycroft

 _"Maybe. Stop it now, you're distracting me. I'm making your salad. I'll see you all later."_ \- John

John's cheeks and ears were red.  
Jesus, there wasn't a reason to get blushed. Actually, Mycroft was aware that he searched every now and then a bloke, who looked like Sherlock, his brother, and get fucked by him. Technically, that was more embarrassing as to tell him, that he likes beards.

_  
 _Saturday, early afternoon, Mycroft's place_

Amanda was in the kitchen to prepare the barbecue and Mycroft and Sherlock were in the big garden to set up the charcoal grill and prepare him for the barbecue later.  
Actually, Mycroft was doing it; Sherlock sat in one of the garden chairs and watched him.  
Mycroft put his phone on the table and looked at Sherlock.

"I've asked John earlier, if he wants to come over for the barbecue. He's coming Sherlock." Mycroft smiled afterwards.  
Sherlock's eyes widened, his mouth hung open.  
"Seriously? He'll come later? Does he know that I'm here?"  
Mycroft smiled and sat down.  
"Yes, Sherlock. I've told him that you're here. He'll come over later."  
"Maybe he'll cancel it later." Sherlock said.  
"No. He texted, that he will come over, he wouldn't cancel that now. And at the moment he's making his delicious potato salad, so he has a reason to come over."  
"He could eat it on his own." Sherlock remarked.  
Mycroft rolled with his eyes and sighed.  
"Jesus! Brother, can you just trust me! Don't be so insecure."  
"I just wanted to say it!"  
"Then shut up Sherlock; if you want to talk so badly, then go to Amanda and tell her that John is coming and that we need more plates, cutlery and glasses."

Sherlock sighed and stood up. Actually, he was glad to go inside, he needed to shower and change his clothes; maybe a shave.  
His heart was racing, he was nervous, absolutely nervous, and he tried to figure out, what John would say, when they finally meet again.

He went inside, told Amanda what Mycroft had said and disappeared into the guest room.  
He needed to think about his clothes and a good start for a conversation.


End file.
